


and should you need me (I'll be there waiting)

by OneSmartChicken



Series: The Scrap Yard [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken
Summary: Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, between the two--between a Matchmaker, and a Dark Mage. Even a Witch couldn't always tell; only a Matchmaker could say for sure.But people didn't know that. They didn't know many things. Matchmakers made sure of that.Or: The Stilinskis owe the Hale pack a favor. Talia calls it in for her son.





	and should you need me (I'll be there waiting)

**Author's Note:**

> -trips and faceplants into sappy fluff- kay dunno how I got here but I'm cool with it
> 
> Honestly this is like 80% worldbuilding. Or more like, I got distracted by Lenore and Kala. Whoops? I dunno if you hate it just skim to when Talia calls.

Smoke drifted around the room, a lazy dragon draping the furniture with frankincense and bayberry. It poured into his lungs when he inhaled, curling behind his ribs as he held it for a count of three, smoke leaking from his nose in a lazy dribble. He exhaled a fresh white cloud, fuller and more eager with its scents. Matchmaker Incense was a special blend made by and for Matchmakers, shaped into little cones and cubes that a Matchmaker could use as inclined. Some set them up in elaborate contraptions and burned them a precise amount at specific times throughout the day.

Stiles went the less precise route, having the power to waste for it: he popped a pressed cube or cone in his mouth, and lit it with his magic. The incense infused him, seeping through his pores, and was eager to do his bidding. To Stiles the mixture just smelled like any incense, like the essence of incense. To others, it always smelled like whatever gave them peace.

Not that most people knew that. Plenty of fiction popularized the idea that the smell was connected to soulmates, that they could smell each other in the smoke, or would smell the same thing, or other such nonsense.

Or not so much nonsense, really. A powerful Matchmaker could make their incense behave in very strange and complex ways. There were tales of Matchmakers using the smoke to actively seek a match, among even more ridiculous and extravagant things. Usually only for royals and Grande Witches, Alphas and their ilk; important clients their kind couldn't quite afford to offend.

They could afford a great deal more offense nowadays, for over decades-- _centuries_ \--of genocides they had become rare and improbably valuable. No one inflicted harm upon a Matchmaker, even the weakest one protected by laws made during generations of people who never met their soulmate. The Second Dark Ages, they called it. Inaccurate and dramatic, if you asked Stiles, but people rarely did. They just wanted to find their soulmate and steer clear of Matchmakers otherwise.

The protection laws had done nothing to make people actually like Matchmakers, who were viewed as cousins to the Dark Mages, who broke magical laws with blood and soul magic so foul it tainted everything it touched.

Well. Supposedly.

That was the story they told at least, because the truth was worse. The truth was that the darkest of Dark Mages got their power by severing soul bonds--starting with their own.

That was the real worst crime, hurting the one whom fate had chosen to make you whole. And that was why Matchmakers had always been feared; because of all people, they were the ones with the power to defy fate.

Mostly they just pointed people in the right direction though.

It sounded like a happy job, but so did wedding planner, and Stiles knew for a fact that shit was stressful as hell. Same with Matchmakers, really. Sure a lot of the time they set people up on the "path to happiness." They made sure they'd meet their soulmate in time, gave them a little lifecoaching if needed, even helped them make goals for a happier life, all so they could one day meet their soulmate.

They were also the first stop during a divorce.

Everyone thought divorces were mismatches. People who met and fell in love and were never meant to be together, were fooled by hormones and the like. That'd be a lot easier than reality.

"Hey Kira," Stiles nodded at the woman stepping casually into his office. Kira ran a PI business next door, and she stopped by every morning, more or less, so they could have breakfast together. Kira was a kitsune destined to meet her soulmate only once she had five tails. Barring very unusual circumstances, Stiles and every other human Kira knew would be dead long before then. She already had two tails when she met him, when he bought his shop three years back. Over some donuts she brought over as a shop-warming present, she shared that no Matchmaker had ever been able to see her soulmate. Stiles took it as a challenge. After meditation and spells and a few sleepless nights, Stiles managed to draw five squiggles, and took another week to confidently interpret them.

That had not been great for his ego. But at least Kira had _something_ now. Even if that something was that she had a few hundred years to go before she so much as bumped into her soulmate. Well. At least he didn't charge her.

"Hey Stiles," she returned easily, always apparently genuinely happy to see him, like he'd done her a favor. He didn't feel like he had. "What's on the agenda?"

His agenda, not hers. Kira was a worrier. It was kind of adorable.

"Two divorces in one day," he sighed, grimacing back in response to the face she made. Yeah, divorces weren't fun. "And the smoke's being weird, so probably something stupid." He shrugged. He knew his line of work. He hadn't precisely chosen it, but he was used to it. His power manifested when he was ten, and he apprenticed officially when he was fourteen, after learning from his mother and family unofficially. He was licensed at sixteen, the only job that could still get a license under eighteen. He finished with school, including college, working for another Matchmaker, and finally bought his own shop at twenty-six. He'd been doing this gig for most of his life; he was pretty used to it.

Possibly in response to his words, the smoke took the opportunity to look exactly like an actual dragon--Eastern variety--coiled around the full length of his shop, before finally dissipating. Kira sneezed.

"Smells like tea," she decided. For some reason, the Matchmaker Incense had started smelling different to her after the first few months of their acquaintance, every time a different smell. He'd been concerned at first, but it seemed to settle down after a few more months. It still always smelled different but it still encouraged her to be mellow. Stiles decided to blame it on her being a kitsune and call it a day.

"What kind?" he asked, since she'd sneezed. She considered.

"Green--the good stuff. But also like there's a pot of rose and vanilla nearby. Huh." She shrugged. The changing scents never bothered her; in part because mellow, part because everyone tended to just accept the weirdness of everything around Matchmakers. Even a lot of Matchmakers just assumed shit was always going to be weird around them. In all fairness, it was true more often than not.

Stiles hummed, sniffing extra hard, and for just a moment he caught a whiff of what Kira was smelling. It was nice, but settled quickly into the "general incense" he associated with his shop and magic and family. It made sense, really; as a child he'd frequented incense shops with his parents, who both came from magical families and shared a love of all things scented. When his mom started drinking her medicinal teas, the family love of incense only seemed to increase.

He remembered long days spent with all the doors and windows open, smoke spilling out into the street. When he started his training, he developed his own love for scents, loved the cloying smells of potions, of herbs hung in the workrooms of magic users of all sorts. Theirs was a collection of professions built on the backs of scents to tantalize and revitalize, of jasmine and angel's trumpet and night blooming cereus; of boiling teas and baked treats, drying herbs, gentle fires, an endless list of wondrous odors. It helped sometimes, oddly enough; if a potion started to sour, an experienced nose tended to pick up on it immediately, often in time to salvage it. He knew more than a few human magic users who paid people with good noses to hang out in their shops just smelling while they brewed.

It was also a pretty easy check to make sure a potion wasn't poisonous. There were plenty of non-magical poisons with no scent or a pleasant one of course, but you couldn't convince magic to smell nice if it had a not-nice purpose. Which was good since there was nothing stopping it from tasting awful, so if you had to drink a tonic at least you could smell something nice while you were at it. Though magic users tended to make extra for that same reason; even when warned, people tended to trust their noses. It was instinct.

"It's nice," Kira decided. "I think something good will happen today. Smells like it. Have a good day, Stiles."

"You too, neighbour," he replied, returning the cheek kiss before she bustled off, probably worried about missing a client.

Stiles stretched, bones cracking plaintively, and set about brewing some bittersweet-smelling droughts. Best to have them done ahead of time, and it gave him the chance to set a more pleasant brew going afterwards.

His first couple was a ten o'clock appointment for a human woman, and a naga woman. Unusual since nagas rarely settled down, but once committed even more rarely strayed. The thought of the meeting had him tense all night, and all morning until they showed up.

They arrived punctually, two stoic women standing with a precise three feet between them, even though his shop wasn't exactly big. The naga woman introduced herself as Lenore, and her soon-to-be-ex-wife introduced herself as Kala. They shook hands then sat in the armchairs to either side of the couch happy couples used, which put a coffee table between them but kept them in arms-reach of Stiles.

They both took his hand when requested, and he closed his eyes. Against his lids, he could see them, lit up in the darkness, like figures made of the fluid in glowsticks. Despite coming in two-legged and scaleless, he could see the long tail of the naga, spilling over the chair and sprawling across the floor. Strands of rainbow connected them; a fragile soul bond woven in cotton candy and spider thread.

Stiles withheld a sigh. They were marked as non-professionally confirmed bond, which meant no one would be getting sued today. But that was the only good news. He forced a smile and opened his eyes. The world looked slightly hazy, like his view was obscured by a film of rainbow, but he was used to that.

"The good news is: You were right!" he said with a healthy dose of false cheer, knowing the spellcraft woven around him, on charms and tattoos, and throughout his shop, would make sure everything he said came off honest and positive. In his shop, if he said there was good news, everyone smiled, and this was no exception.

"No soul bond," he continued. "Some very nice love of course, I imagine neither of you will object to being friends again, once everything's sorted out. No no, no need to argue; divorce is terrible from all sides but good can come of it. Let me just grab the tea and I'll make sure you've got something extra nice to look forward to!" He released them, hopping up to go pour two doses of the first potion, doled out evenly into two porcelain cups. He set them on the coffee table, where there was already a bowl of sugar and a carafe of cream, both made specifically for adding to potions, utterly inert. Genius concoctions, really.

The women drank their tea, and he apologized for oversteeping it, and his shop made him trustworthy and likeable to clients so they didn't object to it. Delightfully, they each drank the whole dose, and quickly; usually he had to make due with however much they choked down. But it really wasn't that bad. This wasn't bad magic after all; just, well. Bitter sweet. Even New Beginnings must be preceded by Endings, after all.

Stiles took their hands and closed his eyes again. The soul bond was already fraying too much to put up a fight when he tugged it apart with a gentle application of black magic (literally black; black magic was not, in fact, Dark Magic. That was just a silly superstition.) He wiped them clean of residue from the bond, gathering it up in his mind and tucking it away to use in the future. Drawing on his own magic, he gave a polite knock at fate's door. His black magic rushed off, anchoring itself to each woman before bolting out the door. All three stayed quiet, and then green pulsed down Lenore's new tether.

"Lenore," he said, turning to her, eyes opening even as visions played across his sight. "She is a kelpie. You are on track to find her. Well done." Of course she was; that was the easiest path for fate to make. By the look of it, she'd even meet her soon. Good. That would help them recover, even if they'd never _know_ they were recovering from a severed bond.

Right on time, as the naga woman flushed with happiness, pink and yellow swirled through Kala's tether. He turned to grin at her.

"As for you, they'll be very happy to meet you. Their names are...Connie, and Ash. You'll want to join a couple charities, then I'm sure they'll find you. Give it a few years then come back if nothing changes." Kala beamed. He squeezed the hands he still held. "And there you are, all set. I'll send you all the paperwork, and send a copy to the registry." They chatted for a while, settling into their changed selves, and drank the cups of rose and vanilla tea he gave them, which wasn't oversteeped at all, as he promised before serving it. He drank too this time, and shared details of their soulmates as they drifted through his mind. And for that seemingly tiny amount of work, they'd never know what they lost, would go on to try again at this whole soulmates thing none the wiser, and pay him a lot of money. They left with their shoulders brushing, which was something. Friends was better that enemies. It always felt like a terrible waste to him when a tethered pair turned their backs to the bond entirely, even after it was severed.

Maybe it was sad, maybe it wasn't. But it was better than making people stay in unhappy relationships because they thought they had to. As he'd explained numerous times, just because you were meant to be together, didn't mean you were meant to be together _forever_. It was still love, still a soul bond. It just didn't go all the way to Always. That was why Matchmakers existed; not to find soulmates, but to break bonds, and to replace them. And sometimes it _was_ terrible--no few queer couples had paid to be separated in the past, chased by society out of perfectly happy bonds, not to mention numerous couples bound for arranged marriages looking to free their perfect, unsuitable partner--but it was true what he said; just because it was terrible, didn't mean good couldn't come of it.

The second couple wasn't as easy. A professionally confirmed bond, he had to call up the original Matchmaker to see how they wanted this handled, then tell a lot of half-truths about it being a matter of human error, yadda yadda, _'easy_ _fix_ ,' the original Matchmaker would refund their Matching fee, etcetera. They took longer, mostly because they kept getting into arguments, even with the shop shoving calm at them.

And immediately after they left, the phone rang, and Alpha Talia Hale was on the line, saying, "It's about my son."

The thing about being a Matchmaker was, you saw things mortals weren't really meant to see. Not necessarily with your actual eyes, either. And that meant every Matchmaker very quickly either went one of two directions, without exception: one, they severed that aspect of their magic out of sheer self-preservation and went on to be normal magic users. Two, they severed a different part of themselves, some unnamed thing, loosening their tether to humanity and effectively making them not-quite-mortal. That was why Matchmakers were known for the impossible; they had stepped over the threshold of the known world, and embraced that which was Elsewise.

That meant something different for every Matchmaker, a fact they didn't much care to divulge with anyone else. Most of their secrets were guarded in ancient temples, as fiercely as any religious artifacts. Their business was only discussed amongst each other, and with utmost security. There were Matchmakers off-grid who, in severing their mortal ties, had gained insight into things beyond comprehension. There were stories of a woman who unlocked Infinite Knowledge centuries ago--and still roamed the earth, untouched by time. Mostly they weren't so dramatic as all that though, and they usually lent themselves to Matchmaking.

Stiles was a powerful magic user, potentially a Grande like his mother even, if he hadn't presented as a Matchmaker--a talent from his father's side, actually, though the small-town sheriff came from a line of low-caliber magic users who tended to only be at most Significant in their own unique areas. Unsurprisingly, his father's magics lent themselves to crime solving, though not always in obvious ways, and they would have been equally useful in numerous occupations. It was pure personality that saw John fighting for justice. Claudia had "had her fill" of the Witch life apparently, and dedicated herself to whatever struck her fancy, from competitive gardening to trick horseback riding and beyond. Last Stiles heard she was becoming a falconer, and about six other things. The usual Mom stuff.

But when he was a kid, before he manifested as a Matchmaker, she fiddled around as the emissary for the local were pack.

The Hales were a family of minor celebrities, which wasn't surprising considering they were all superhumanly gorgeous, which wasn't _actually_ a were thing. In the last century, at least a dozen had been successful actors, about half that went into music with equal success, and they sported a number of renowned artists and a couple politicians. Talia Hale was the family matriarch and Alpha, and an actress known equally in Hollywood and on Broadway.

So getting a call from her was kind of notable. But Stiles had celebrity clients pretty regularly; he was quickly coming to be known as the "best Matchmaker in Cali," and he was both discreet and a certain quirky brand of charming.

So it wasn't the _celebrity_ aspect that made him almost swallow his tongue.

No. It was because his mom was previously Talia's emissary, and when she left off to move onto her next thing it came with two conditions: first, Claudia had to find a replacement before she left. That was easy; even if she'd done the Grande Witch equivalent of running off to marry a hick and join the circus, she still had _Connections._

The second part was simple: the Hale pack was owed a Favor. In the _old_ meaning of things.

So what was actually said was: "Matchmaker Stiles of California, listening."

"Son of Stilinski, of my friend and once emissary, of power and fathom. I call as Alpha Talia Hale, and as a mother. It's about my son. He needs your help."

And Stiles glared at the smoke dragon that had renewed itself, practically frolicking. He knew he should have moved out of state.

"Alpha Hale. Are you requesting me on behalf of my mother's debt?" he asked formally.

"I am," she agreed, equally formal.

With that out of the way--"Well great," Stiles sighed. "What can I do for you, Alpha?"

"I think that's better discussed in person. How soon can you get to Beacon Hills?"

"I'll clear my schedule," he answered, reaching for his laptop to pull up his planner. "If there's nothing I can't put off--I can be there tonight. Will tomorrow morning work, or is it urgent?"

"It's urgent, but it'll keep another night. Tomorrow then, Mister Stilinski," she said. "How can I reach you?"

"Mm. How about I call you? Is this number good?" Stiles preferred as few people as possible knew his private number.

"That sounds fine. Safe travels," she said and hung up. He sighed. Dammit Mom.

Getting a pen and notepad just in case, planner open in front of him, Stiles started making calls. Hopefully a whole week free would be overkill. _Hopefully._

When Kira came in for their usual late lunch/early dinner, he filled her in, low on details for patient confidentiality and all that. Kira promised to watch his shop--he gave her a key so she could water the plants and make sure nothing got out of hand in his absence--and hugged him. He packed a suitcase and climbed into his rugged little green jeep (a more modern compliment to his mother's old powder blue baby) and headed home.

...

His dad had been happy to see him, and they had a nice dinner, Skyped his mom, and then Stiles conked out good in his childhood bedroom. Bright and early the next morning, he hauled his travel work bag back into the jeep and drove into the Preserve, stopping only to grab a coffee that he chugged on the way. Talia herself met him at the door, her smile warm despite a tightness around her eyes that screamed _stress_.

"Stiles, it's good to see you again, despite the circumstances," she greeted him with a hug that he was happy to return, even if he hadn't seen her in over a decade. Werewolves were huggers. As were Stlinskis.

"Same, Mrs. Hale," he agreed. "Now what are these circumstances? You mentioned Derek?" Talia sighed, smile falling.

"You'd best see for yourself, I think," she decided. "I'm not sure I could explain it well enough." She guided him inside, polite enough not to offer to take his bag--a Matchmaker bore their own equipment, always; an old rule steeped in superstition and practicality alike. She lead the way through an empty living room, and, as if the uncharacteristically silent house wasn't creepy enough, to the basement. Ignoring the sense of suddenly being in a horror movie, Stiles gamely followed her downstairs. He couldn't decide if it was comforting or alarming that the basement contained a half dozen Hales, including Derek and his wife. His wife who was handcuffed to the wall with a sock in her mouth, while Derek sat in a corner looking like he had his own personal stormcloud following him around.

"As you may recall, Derek and Kate met eight years ago," Talia began. Stiles started unpacking his bag, starting with an area rug as long as he was tall. "They had a brief engagement, and have been happily married."

"They have a daughter," Stiles noted. "I saw her on Facebook. My mom still keeps track of you all." Dr. Deaton, barely a Superior, could never be half the emissary his Grande mom was, after all. And more importantly, their family was absolutely full of loyal worryworts.

"Sammy is with my mother for the day," Talia said. "This is..." She sighed. "Three days ago, my brother called and told me to get the family in one room and put the phone on speaker. He handed his phone to a Seer, one Madame Alexandria. She told us the Argents have begun an internal civil war, and sleeper agents of the old regime--her words--were about to be activated. Kate pulled out a gun and shot the phone."

"I punched her," Laura interjected, lip curling in a snarl he still remembered from when he lived here; Laura was next-level scary. "It was pretty satisfying."

"So you chained her up in the basement and sent Sammy to her great-grandma," Stiles finished, nodding. "That makes sense. So why am I here?" He could guess, but this was a Favor; best not to take chances.

"I would like to know if this traitor is truly my son's soulmate," Talia stated, fury rising sharply until it was nearly palpable, only to just as suddenly get wrestled back down by pure Alpha willpower.

Stiles nodded. He set out a pot of steaming tea, and pulled out a bag of incense to find the perfect one. Logically they should all be the same, but magic federally considered logic the enemy.

"Alright. As Matchmaker Stiles Stilinski, on behalf of my mother, former emissary of Hale pack, I accept your request to fulfill the Favor owed to you and yours," he declared. He sat back on his heels, looking around the basement, then returned his focus to the incense. "Everyone but Derek: Get out. Don't bother trying to listen in. Matchmaker mojo will be at work." He tuned out a brief argument, only giving them enough attention to know when all uninvolved parties had left. He stuck the cone he'd determined worthy in his mouth, gnawing on it absently as he looked over his unusual clients.

Kate looked like she wanted to pull out his intestines and strangle him with them. Derek continued to _Be the Stormcloud._

Stiles spat the gob of smoking incense into his hand. He watched it as the smoke poured out, thicker and thicker, urged by ancient magic. It dripped sluggishly out over the rug, purring over the fibers, already drenched in the smoke and magic of Matchmaking. It recoiled sharply from the cold concrete floor, a great panther coiling around him with teeth bared. It didn't venture beyond the rug until it was higher than Stiles's head, and then it rushed forth, dissolving from the feline shape in order to coat the floor. It pooled in the corners even as it pushed upwards, smothering the walls, up the stairs and over the ceiling and the basement door, filling in any cracks that could be spied through.

Stiles eyed the illusion cats slinking in the corners warily. Even for magic--even _his_ magic--that had been...rather _dramatic_.

He went back to extracting things from his bag, knowing he would need more than the rug and incense for this. He should have had them brought to his office properly, where he and his magic were strongest, where nothing could trespass. There were no Matchmakers close enough to use their home instead though, and the drive to his would take so long as to not be worth it. He briefly considered his parents' home, but he had never used it for this. It had plenty of magic, but it was such a chaotic assortment it would likely be worse than this eerie basement.

Eerie basement with a secret passage, he noticed. Nice. He gave it a magical prod, and the smoke gave it extra attention; secrecy encouraged secrecy, and an eavesdropper would have found it easier there, if he hadn't noticed it.

He laid out more rugs, set out dozens of figurines, propped up paintings--Derek finally gave in and growled after an impressive forty five minutes.

"Quit stalling," the wolf snapped, flashing teeth and yellow eyes. Stiles threw a marble at him, which was dodged, then dumped out a big jar of assorted marbles on the rug while Derek sorted out the fact he'd just had a marble thrown at him.

Stiles took pity on him. He poured the tea, then sat there and frowned at the minor conundrum Kate and her bindings.

He should probably have thought of this sooner.

"Drink this," he instructed, passing a cup to Derek before he stood with the second. He wandered over to stand over the increasingly smug looking blonde. He felt when Derek gulped down the tea, felt his magic latch on. It was still stronger, more _intense_ than it should be. Hm. Stiles dumped the tea on Kate's head, turning away to hide his smirk at her muffled shout. The magic took hold of her too, with a vicious intent he had never experienced before. It made the hairs stand up on his arms and the back of his neck, filling him with a prickly sensation of mixed dread and rage as he resumed his seat amongst the marbles.

He picked up a fist-sized pewter goldfish, and the smoke filled the air with matching plump fish, drifting sleepily by. The cats remained, but they began to settle at last, and Derek stopped his quiet growling. Stiles swept his fingers through the marbles, scooping up the ones that seemed to cling, demanding to be picked up. He cast them forward like the old fortune tellers, watched the way they scattered. It soothed him, quieting the nameless rage within.

With two marbles between his fingers still, he finally closed his eyes, drawing on his magic. The soul light burst into life, and he stared in horror.

Dense webs in sickly not-colors clung to Derek and Kate, tying them together like monstrous spider traps, choking off their inner fires. He could see where Kate's blood red thread had long ago been severed, shriveled up at her core, a pathetic little thing that never stood a chance. Derek's was worse; Derek had met his soulmate, and the glittering blue looked like tears on his fingertips and at the hollow of his throat, where it would have tingled and clumped; a youthful crush that never got to bloom.

Stiles focused on Kate, lest he start crying over Derek. Kate who still had threads of magic tangled with the webbing, the mark of the Dark Mage who had wrought this. He might have given her the benefit of the doubt, if not for Talia's story, his furious magic--and the memory of Sammy's grinning face from the last picture his mom forwarded him.

"Daughter of Argent," he said, opening his eyes to snare her in a cold gaze. He wasn't the most impressive person on his own, but at the height of his magic working, he looked every inch the Grande Master Matchmaker. "You have stained your soul. As a Matchmaker, it is my duty to sever your soulbonds, permanently, freeing those you have wronged with your crimes." He was only glad she wasn't the Dark Mage herself; he would be checking over all the Hales, but if a Dark Mage had been in their midst for eight years, he doubted they would have survived this long. It was too bad his mother had left before Kate came or they could have caught the culpable Mage.

The goldfish turned into sharks and swarmed Kate, and as they tore the webbing apart, Kate tried to scream. Stiles reached forward and wrenched out the red soulbond, watching dispassionately as Kate collapsed. He pressed the now white thread to himself, chasing it with a burst of black magic. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found Kate's intended, retying them without a fuss and promptly losing track of them without anything at hand to trace them.

He turned on his knees to face Derek, who had turned pale, staring at Kate, half-risen as if to go to her. But the webbing was fading, taking the dark magic with it. The magic hadn't falsified all his feelings, not even most of them, but it had done enough to keep him pinned in place. A false soulbond bound more tightly than a true one, another ironic, tragic truth the Matchmakers kept to themselves.

"Derek," Stiles murmured, and smiled sadly when Derek's eyes snapped to him. He sighed, closed his eyes again, and reached out for those tear blue glimmers. "You knew her once. She grew up, moved far away. She has a husband and two kids--twins. They start school next year. They have a dog and--" he cut off before he could say too much, although he already had. He rubbed his cheek. "She's very happy. I think her husband will be her new soulmate; I can almost see him."

"You're severing my bond too," Derek said. He sounded...numb. Confused. Maybe a little broken. Stiles didn't think, just got up and went to him, kneeling down to take his hands, drawn like a moth to open flame.

"It's not a punishment," he whispered, quiet but fierce enough to get Derek looking at him with something other than that blank look that had been quietly tearing Stiles up inside. Stiles smiled again, a little more real, a little less sad, maybe a little amused. "It happens all the time, and it's sad, but only because it's the ending before a new beginning. It's what we Matchmakers are for. Bonds mean love, and sometimes it's not forever. You didn't get as much time with your intended as you were meant to, but you have the rest of your life for the next one--or even the one after the next. Bonds should only last as long as they make you _happy_." He took a deep breath, and poured black magic into Derek. The cats and the once-more-fish swarmed, descending on them in a miasma of incense, filling their mouths and noses and lungs and entire beings with smoke.

And Stiles looked, and watched delicate curls of lilac and gold loop around his fingers. They snaked across the short distance between them to kiss Derek's lips, then thread through his heart, spilling in bursts of glorious blooms from the center of his chest, matched at the center of Stiles's.

Stiles fell onto his butt. Derek was staring expectantly at him, but Stiles couldn't manage to make words, just mouthed silent disbelief.

"Matchmakers can't see their own bond," he said, although he wasn't sure who he was telling. Matchmakers had black bonds, so technically they _could_ be seen, up close. They always hid themselves though, so by the time the connection was visible, the Matchmaker and their soulmate were already touching. It was the exchange; find love unaided, and help everyone else find theirs. But the world was full of secrets, and this was one hell of a coincidence. Maybe it had happened before, but Dark Mages were such a taboo topic it wouldn't surprise him if no one knew about it.

"Stiles?" Derek, his _soulmate_ , asked, sounding concerned, and also like he'd said Stiles's name a few times. A thousand explanations rushed through his mind.

"Fuck me," he said eloquently. "I'm your soulmate." And then he laid down on the ground and covered his burning face, feeling like seven different kinds of idiot even as his heart swelled. "I'm your soulmate," he repeated.

He was exactly who Derek needed, with exactly the sort of soulbond Derek needed. He had been a Matchmaker most of his life; _he_ _got_ _it_. Derek needed someone who could be honest, someone who would love him and who knew about Kate and his original bonded and about Sammy and the Hales and--and there were others who would probably fit the bill, but as his face burned hotter and redder, Stiles knew that, improbably, impossibly, and, maybe, _wonderfully_ : No one fit as perfectly as him. And as he thought it, he suspected he'd never had his own soulmate, which he'd thought before, but now he thought it positively, and he thought about Derek and his original intended coming into his office like Lenore and Kala and Stiles feeling a little sad as he broke their bond and falling off the couch and maybe he never had a bond but he knew he was _wrong_ , he _always_ had a soulmate. He was just waiting for Derek to need him.

And as a Matchmaker, it was his professional opinion that that was the sappiest, goofiest, most _ridiculous_ thing he had _ever_ encountered, let alone thought up himself, and he swore right then he would never, ever say all of that aloud _ever_. (Except, maybe, very quietly, as a vow, when Derek needed it, so he would have it forever, whenever he needed it, and _Stiles needed to stop thinking these things.)_

"What do you mean you're my soulmate?" Derek asked. Stiles decided not to feel offended by the disbelief. "How?" Hands still over his face, Stiles shrugged.

"Fate works in mysterious ways," he said, and giggled. There was a Dark Mage on the loose, and things had just gotten really, really complicated--but he had a gorgeous, impossible soulmate, and for just a minute, he was too happy for words. Which was good, since he'd rather not let his soppy thoughts out into the wilderness until he was a little less punch drunk.

He took a good ten minutes just to get his brain back on track, feeling like he'd sprinted through a marathon and found a baby unicorn at the same time. Although there was certainly a _bit_ of drama to him, it wasn't _just_ him being dramatic; after that much magic expenditure, he needed more than ten minutes of lounging. Breaking a bond was one thing; ironically, bonds were meant to be broken. With his trusted magic at play, bonds unraveled without a fuss. This had been a very different beast. For one, it wasn't a true bond between Derek and Kate, only a simulacrum of one, the best a Dark Mage could do. It had warped over time, from a small thing that could pass muster--and he was ashamed to say it had passed under his notice every time he'd met the two previously, although that hadn't been a common occurrence--into a nasty web of lies and hatred. He couldn't just _sever_ that, he had to convert it into a different magic or else risk it running afoul of some random innocent.

And then he had to route out Kate's bond completely, and cauterize the source, cutting off the natural order that would have tied her to another person. At least Derek had been relatively easy, just the usual application of black magic to set things to rights.

Speaking of Derek, Stiles's few memories of him hadn't lied; he was almost bizarrely considerate. He waited Stiles's ten minutes in silence instead of pestering him with questions and demands, which would have been understandable. And somehow he was _Stiles's_ soulmate.

Eventually Stiles sat up, scrubbing fiercely at his face, wiping away sweat and a leaked tear or two. When he glanced over, he wasn't surprised to see Kate still out, although it was strange to see someone with no tethers, even if he was the one who had caused it. He was relieved to see the smoke recoiling from her, the natural magic casually avoiding her, a phenomenon unlikely to be limited to his senses. It might not be anything like common, but he knew any Matchmaker would take one look at Kate and know she wasn't meant to be Matched. Although...

"I'll have to file something," he mused. Derek grunted in a vaguely questioning way. Stiles looked at him instead of Kate. "I'm not sure how to record this--it's sort of...private Matchmaker business. But if someone sees her and has questions, they should know where to direct them." And then, even though he'd never told anyone Matchmaker stuff, not even his parents or Scott or Kira, he sat down and told Derek exactly what he'd done and why. He deserved to know. Stiles had decided; all the Matchmaker rules of secrecy could eat it.

Talking about their bond made him blush helplessly, full of wonder and delight, fully prepared to fall utterly head over heels in love with Derek. He didn't say as much--he did have _some_ tact--but he definitely implied it.

"You're going to hunt the Dark Mage," Derek growled. He growled an awful lot for someone with bunny teeth. " _Stiles_." They barely knew each other and already Derek could put an essay of meaning into just his name. Stiles should not find that as adorable and wonderful as he did.

**Author's Note:**

> As per everything in this series, I wrote this in my "Scrapyard" file, where it very nearly grew legs and ran off, except I kind of blundered into an ending. It has a feeling in between complete and not to me, which makes it hard to continue. It's not an unsatisfying ending in my opinion though, nowhere I hate leaving you, just somewhere I could write a sequel from, possibly, if I get a wild hare. I may or may not, but if I do, -looks at my million other wips- ...it probably won't be soon.


End file.
